Current Week: the Obsession Chronicles from Sienna Moonfire Designs

my horrorscope this week
(for the week of 6 October 2005):
I'm afraid I had to name you "Underachiever of the Month" for September, Aries. You didn't quite succeed at wrestling your frustrations into submission, though you had the power to do so. You also failed to cash in on much of the great potential you had for smashing injustice, exposing fakery, and toppling the rotting status quo. That's the bad news. The good news is that some of your missed opportunities will become available again in the coming week. Make up for lost time, please.

angel cards i just drew:
harmony strength abundance

what the tarot says
There is no reason to hold yourself back... Let yourself enjoy spontaneity and naturalness...
A time of surrender approaches. As your dignity, control and cherished self-image are stripped away, you will rediscover the deeper and more authentic parts of yourself.

how'm i doing:
i'm surprised that Brezsny would be so harsh with me this week, though it makes more sense when combined with my rising sign in which he talks of "proof that angels were always watching over me" * i spent the first half of September sharing my homeland riches with close beloved friends & the longer half falling in love again all over again with the desert * i've been empowered & helpless, destroyed & renewed, broken & joined into it all * i haven't seen anything fake or much that's status quo, though i did clean up after what injustice i could * i feel closer to the cards * i found harmony, strength & abundance, found them in strong abundant harmony within myself & i see how they grow by sharing them, arms heart mind spirit as open as possible, until there's no closing * i lost it all, gave it right up. . . & that's how i found it all right in front of me again still always *

what i'm eating
peaches & figs & strawberries with yogurt *
fresh peppers & tomatoes *
walla walla onions *

my favorite crushes:
that Green River & those red cliffs *
not to mention all the in betweens *

what i'm watching:
red cliffs *

what i'm reading
The Desert Cries *
The Way Out (again) *

in my dreams
i have in my hands a paper written by my guardian angel guide & i am thinking, 'this is one of those moments that is so special i cannot share it with anybody * this is a tiny sacred trust that i hold this paper & i am worthy of being its witness' * he needs me to pick up another paper, by some students from Korea (like in the dream last year) * this paper is wrapped in noodles & when i try to talk my mouth is full of dry noodles * i lose the students on the way to put the precious papers into Viggo's room but there are 3 hungry young girls at one of the doors * i get them to go away by promising that i will make sure they get to ask him to kiss their foreheads the next day, something which i am not even sure i can promise but something i know would be given easily gladly * the lush rooms go up down stairs, full of doors * in some places the life is still whispering its precious little secrets to me & i am taken in without losing my footing * i look at a fútbol jersey thrown across the bed & i want to pick it up & soak in the traces of its owner, even to take it, treasure it like the paper, but i do not touch it * i know he would give it to me if i asked for it but i will not ask (it occurs to me that he might give it to me anyway) * i see somehow in the lay of things that he is sick, denying himself, giving it all away * my heart leaps out of me as it always does but it does not break apart into the scatter of his fragile private life & there he is bare as an old soul in front of me, looking so small, in so much need, trying to give himself away to me too even though i do not want to take anything only give some tiny nothing all i can give but i cannot stop him until i wake up to it & go back through carefully in the gentle purple of the morning light across the lake on whose shore i'd spent the starry long slow sweetness of the night * i smile to myself trying to pin the wings back onto my guardian angel, feeling all that calm strength in myself, feeling that same endless need to give it all away, trying to get back into my dreams, give myself back to the gift *

questionnaire:
my answers to those questions he always asks on Inside the Actors Studio are as follows (today):

my most favorite word is sinuosity *
my least favorite word is mine *
what turns me on is life *
what turns me off is thoughtlessness *
a sound i love is desert days, desert nights *
a sound i hate is good water spilling *
my favorite curse word is c*cksucker *
a profession other than my own that i would love to try is river runner *
a profession i would hate to try is tour guide *
if i end up at the pearly gates & there is a god to greet me, i would want her to say, "the concert's down by the river, m'dear" *

	the Obsession Chronicles The women who live on the red-desert rivers of the American Southwest are helplessly, hopelessly bound to them. Women thus helplessly bound cannot explain their attachment without incinerating everything within a sixty-mile radius. Your scorched eyebrows would forever & beyond all doubt convince you that women understand slickrock and might, in a heartbeat, take it as a lover over any man. -- Ellen Meloy
	heart/land	posted 8 October 2005
	rocked the best part of my year is my pilgrimage to Canyonlands * the red desert of southern Utah (what tender little i've seen) is a place beyond words, beyond into through below understanding & almost but not quite back again * yet i can go on & on so don't get me started unless you're ready for the storm * it is a place much to big to describe, photograph, see in 9 days, 3 weeks or even fifteen years * it may be impossible but you bet i took well over 400 pictures (see the slide shows at tyV) *
	a few 1000 words
	check for the latest photos & rants from to with Canyonlands
	all to music i threw together a couple of mixed cds on my way out the door, favorite tunes from the lost highway girls, from the lover boys down under, Sade, Storm, whatever fit * i drove for miles & hours, soaring through all the cds in my truck, memorizing all the songs to make a mix that's best shuffled but which could be a box set of 3 mood swings (girl, boy/girl, & boy) or a condensed version on one cd * something to drive along, my turtleshell truck & i * something to take me back there now *
	approach arrival	kaliedoscope of beauty o o ooooo, the desert... i was born on the rich lively blue green coast but those red white green lands of rock & water inland sing to me as loud, with a more compelling invitation * i fear respect admire cherish the desert -- full of life, colour, death renewal & perilous change as the ocean -- in the same awed deliciously small-&-insignificant-feeling way but i am filled with the inescapable desire to enter the land where the great pure water of the ocean stops me at the edge * i want to keep my feet, most of the time at least, even if i have to walk on all fours * truthfully i do not want to leave the rock or the water but i'd rather float on the endless rolling of red tan white black blue silver green rocks than beyond sight of shore (not that i've ever gotten beyond much of any edge in the desert) * i stand at the sea looking out at all that power time seething patience breathing & i am not pulled in * but bring me to a desert river & i am yours its sunk for life *
	slide shows at tyV: nine twenny-five * Canyonlands * sweet 16
	now i have brought myself to the river (with expert, light-fingered help) & i've admitted to myself that even in the unlikely event that i never have another human lover i will not die unloved (hope i'm not jinxing myself too badly there but i trust this ever-providing universe enough not to care) * i've returned, promised & been promised another return & another another another until there is no more leaving it * that kiwi crooner sings a line i love: "everywhere since i have been with you in spirit" * there are a few days in each year when i smile to think to myself 'i could die happy today' as i slide up & down the roller coaster highway of life * i don't want to, not before hundreds more days loving the land for holding us so tender-precariously * but i have left nothing of true importance undone * i have acted the fool at every opportunity & sucked the marrow from many days * i am here now * i am happy *	black hole view
	the oldest brother always asks, "did you find god?" & it's not the way i ask breathe leak become that question but my answer is
		yes * yes yes yes this is it * this place, the lasting feeling of this place: muddy clean deep rich red sharp smooth cold water, warm rock is everything * this awareness growing (again) in this fragile unstoppable temple of a body with all its simple needs & easy joys... what else is there but this?
		nine twenny-five, 4:38 pm (armpit hair)

	evening light	in my dreams i have in my hands a paper written by my guardian angel guide & i am thinking, 'this is one of those moments that is so special i cannot share it with anybody * this is a tiny sacred trust that i hold this paper & i am worthy of being its witness' * he needs me to pick up another paper, by some students from Korea (like in the dream last year) * this paper is wrapped in noodles & when i try to talk my mouth is full of dry noodles * i lose the students on the way to put the precious papers into Viggo's room but there are 3 hungry young girls at one of the doors * i get them to go away by promising that i will make sure they get to ask him to kiss their foreheads the next day, something which i am not even sure i can promise but something i know would be given easily gladly * the lush rooms go up down stairs, full of doors * in some places the life is still whispering its precious little secrets to me & i am taken in without losing my footing * i look at a fútbol jersey thrown across the bed & i want to pick it up & soak in the traces of its owner, even to take it, treasure it like the paper, but i do not touch it * i know he would give it to me if i asked for it but i will not ask (it occurs to me that he might give it to me anyway) * i see somehow in the lay of things that he is sick, denying himself, giving it all away * my heart leaps out of me as it always does but it does not break apart into the scatter of his fragile private life & there he is bare as an old soul in front of me, looking so small, in so much need, trying to give himself away to me too even though i do not want to take anything only give some tiny nothing all i can give but i cannot stop him until i wake up to it & go back through carefully in the gentle purple of the morning light across the lake on whose shore i'd spent the starry long slow sweetness of the night * i smile to myself trying to pin the wings back onto my guardian angel, feeling all that calm strength in myself, feeling that same endless need to give it all away, trying to get back into my dreams, give myself back to the gift *
	look up
	slide shows at tyV: nine twenny-five * Canyonlands * sweet 16
	questionnaire: my answers to those questions he always asks on Inside the Actors Studio are as follows (today): my most favorite word is sinuosity * my least favorite word is mine * what turns me on is life * what turns me off is thoughtlessness * a sound i love is desert days, desert nights * a sound i hate is good water spilling * my favorite curse word is *ccksucker** * a profession other than my own that i would love to try is river runner * a profession i would hate to try is tour guide * if i end up at the pearly gates & there is a god to greet me, i would want her to say, "the concert's down by the river, m'dear" *	cloud light

		Sienna Moonfire Designs Pacific Coast Picture Stories Website Creation & Maintenance last updated 14 October 2005 :: 11:17 am Caspar (Pacific) time click to email: sienna m potts
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the Obsession Chronicles

heart/land

rocked

all to music

kaliedoscope of beauty

Pacific Coast Picture Stories
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